Thoughts of Legacy
May is the month when mothers are in the spotlight with timely reminders about Mother’s Day and the associated brunches, bouquets, and beautiful words that accompany drool-worthy trending posts on social media.
I have been immune to these nudges, since lately, my mind has been preoccupied with thoughts of legacy. The dictionary defines legacy in terms of money or property that is handed over after a person’s death. Alternatively, it implies a long-lasting impact of events and actions from the past. Given these general definitions, my focus tends towards a contrarian train of thought wherein I wonder if legacy is what remains once the grief and/or celebrations over death are completed.
Perhaps my fascination with this topic comes from the content I have been consuming of late through books, shows, and emails.
Books that leave a mark
After co-founding a book club in Singapore, my reading list has grown even more diverse thanks to the wide-ranging interests of the members. While many members read only print books and others exclusively prefer their e-readers, I hop between print and my current favorite, audiobooks.
In between two serious books that took much effort, I came across a wonderful short story titled “The Deal of a Lifetime” by Fredrick Bachman. While the author is famous for his novels, this tiny tale made me stop in my tracks. The story is a narration by a father to his son, a simple recounting of a life that looks like the ones most of us experience, yet it leaves a mark long after it is done.
The basic premise of the story questions us about the kinds of sacrifices one is prepared to make for the greater good, not just that of the family or community, but probes into the extent to which one is willing to efface oneself for a higher purpose. If you haven’t read it, please do. If my description makes you run in the opposite direction, that’s fine too.
But consider this – would you rather have a life filled with publicly acknowledged accomplishments or a quiet one with a small circle of influence?
Making a list and living by it
A couple of weeks ago, I watched The Life List on Netflix. Based on a book of the same name by Lori Nelson Spielman, the story revolves around the life of the young protagonist whose mother dies, leaving her with no visible inheritance except a series of DVD recordings, which she receives after completing one item from a life list she had written as a teenager.
The movie is a sweet reminder of the fantastic lives we envision for ourselves in our naive youth, but leave behind as the demands of a practical world and the burdens of adulting pile up. From giving up on what she really loves to do (teach) to what she needs to learn (drive) and wishes to experience (true love), there is much to look forward to, yet she is also intimidated by it. How she lives up to her dead mother’s challenge makes for a pleasant movie experience. Perhaps the saddest realization is that we most often disappoint not our parents or family or teachers, but ourselves.
What is the right balance between chasing wishful dreams and settling for what is practically possible, even though not terribly exciting?
The point of writing letters
In a recent random discovery, I came across a post on Substack in a publication called Spark by Elizabeth Marro. The post began with a description of a recent conversation over Zoom between the writer and her 90-year-old mother.
Whenever I come across middle-aged women who still have aging mothers who are actively involved in their lives, I feel jealous. Having lost mine the year I turned forty, Amma’s loss is a burning absence that I feel every day and more so when I pass milestones in my journey; there are times when I wish I could call, share, vent, gloat, and simply revel in her company.
Marro goes on to write about her relationship with her mother over the years, but most importantly, she shares snippets of letters, actual handwritten notes on paper that her mother wrote to her and her sibling every week. The intimacy of written words, received and read asynchronously, seems incongruous in this era of instant messaging and texting. Yet, I remember the smile on my face each time I received a blue aerogramme or an envelope with pages in my mother’s handwriting in my mailbox in the US.
The news would not be current by the time I read it, but proofs of her effort, intention, and love were embedded in those long-ruled pages, some ivory, some yellow, all covered with neat letters occupying every inch of space. The words were sometimes smudged, the ink messy, or the edge covered with a turmeric stain from her kitchen, but they all added up to a wholesome experience akin to a precious hug through those sheets of paper. Now, those letters are an even more meaningful and tangible reminder of Amma years after her passing.
What we leave behind
A year ago, a lady I admired greatly passed away suddenly. She was not much older than I, and our lives intersected due to proximity and common interests. Although not a celebrity in the commonly understood sense of the word, to me, she was the epitome of success. She had paid work that she enjoyed, a schedule that allowed her to pursue her multifaceted interests. Managing family expectations and her own, balancing external activities while making adequate time for solitary introspection was her forte. I felt she had found the holy grail of being true to oneself while embedded in everyday life, something that I feel has eluded me since I embraced motherhood almost three decades ago.
Now that a year has passed, I wonder what it is that her children remember about her? What is her legacy?
And by extension, it forces me to think about what my legacy will be.
I want to explore this thought some more. Stay tuned for part two next month.